


the song of waiting

by shatteredstars



Category: Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù, 魔道祖师 | Módào Zǔshī (Cartoon)
Genre: 13 years of Inquiry, 13 years of waiting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Includes brief mention of Number One Asshole Wen Chao, M/M, Pining, Spoilers, Told through moments, Yunmeng Jiang duo if you squint, everything is alright in the end, ft. Single Dad Hanguang-jun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 09:31:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16426832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatteredstars/pseuds/shatteredstars
Summary: It’s that thought he dwells on when he plays his guqin that night, searching again for the soul that possessed the very best in the very worst of times.This cannot be the end, Lan Wangji thinks. It’s too unfair. He will find a way, and he will make it right.In the thirteen years Lan Wangji waits for Wei Wuxian, in the countless times he plays Inquiry, these are the moments he remembers.





	the song of waiting

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Песнь ожиданья](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16516073) by [green_pastry (Weis)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weis/pseuds/green_pastry)



> This story contains spoilers. I've read up to the chapters translated in English, and know a few bits more. But that's about it. If you have read the full novel and there's anything that makes you go "huh?" is probably my headcanon. Enjoy!
> 
> Edit (28/10/18): Fixed a typo and proper term of address for LWJ (tudi). Many thanks to rani for pointing it out!

The whip falls.  
  
But Lan Wangji doesn’t feel it. With each searing lash, he hears not the crack of the whip, but one word, said over and over.  
  
Leave.   
  
He’s not in the Ancestral Hall of the Cloud Recesses receiving his punishment. He’s in a blood-stained cave, clutching the hand of another, each of his words more desperate than the last. But despite his best efforts, he’s being pushed away, his grip slipping fast. Helplessly watching the black-robed man he’s holding onto, broken and catatonic, he thinks it’s worse than any number of lashes his sect can give him.  
  
He opens his eyes for a moment and meets the gaze of his elder brother. Lan Xichen does a good job of keeping the emotions out of his jade-like face, but the younger can see the conflict dwelling in the older’s eyes. His brother will never be disappointed in him, but he knows he’s almost crossed the line with what he did.  
  
Shame burns in his chest, but it’s not from the punishment. He can’t repent when he hasn’t made a mistake in the first place. They could whip him until his skin was in bloody shreds and he still would not acknowledge that the action they so readily call a “mistake” is one.  
  
Regret? He only regrets one thing.  
  
He regrets not being enough to save _him_.

 

* * *

 

Lan Xichen, his older brother and now sect leader, is leading an expedition comprising of cultivators from the hundred cultivation sects to the Yiling Burial Mounds. They intend to summon the Yiling Patriach’s soul, Lan Xichen explains to his younger brother.  
  
“No, Wangji, you will not be going.” Lan Xichen sighs before Lan Wangji can even say a thing. In a rare moment of frustration, Lan Wangji opens his mouth, closes it, then looks away to hide his gaze from his all-seeing brother. “It is for your own good. I will tell you how it goes.”  
  
His brother returns two weeks later. The cultivators are surprised to see the unfeeling Hanguang-jun waiting to receive them. Only their clan leader knows why he is really waiting there.  
  
Lan Xichen looks at his brother and shakes his head.  
  
That night, Lan Wangji brings his _guqin_ out to the edge of the Cloud Recesses. It is bitter nostalgia he feels when he plays the instrument, once again seeking information from the spirits on the whereabouts of one particular young man.

 

* * *

 

A wise man once said that  enemies are bound to meet on a narrow road.  
  
When Lan Wangji hears the two notes that translate to ‘Wen Chao’, the rage that fills him almost cracks his icy demeanour. His fingers twitch on the strings and he almost lashes out. To shred the spirit into pieces so that Wen Chao will never be reborn. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. To bestow upon his eternal life the same fate that his petty actions led an innocent man to.  
  
Lan Wangji restrains it, just barely. If only because if anyone would know where the soul he’s looking for is, it’s the coward who would do anything to stay far, far away from the grasp of his murderer.  
  
Stiffly, he plays the question asking for the whereabouts of one demonic cultivator.  
  
Wen Chao’s fear is an almost lucid, almost material presence as he answers.  
  
_I don’t know._  
  
Useless in life and in death, Lan Wangji thinks to himself as he dismisses the spirit.

* * *

 

Lan Sizhui is always with Lan Jingyi.

Lan Wangji watches from the corridor as the two disciples spar in the courtyard. He likes to think he takes it upon himself to keep track of Sizhui’s life. But he really doesn’t have the slightest clue how the two met and became fast friends. 

In any case, their movements are slow, ungraceful and almost sloppy. Sizhui, at least, looks like he’s attempting to take it even half-seriously. Jingyi is just plain messing around. But they’re young, not even the age he was when the Wen Sect decided it wanted the world and started to wreck havoc. They live in a time of peace and learning and dare he say, bliss. He thinks it might be pride he feels in his stone-cold heart. This is the reason he and others of his generation gave up their youth and fought. So the ones that come after will not have to do the same.

Jingyi is the one who finally notices him watching them and both are so startled that they drop their wooden swords. He tells them to pay him no heed and continue. When they start again, they spar for real this time. 

They forget just as quickly that he’s still there. He’s watching them, but comprehending something else in his head.

Sizhui is slightly more skilled than Jingyi and doesn’t hold back at all. But when he beats his friend down, he is there instantly to help him up and ask after his injuries. He explains to Jingyi where the latter slipped up and demonstrates how to do it better. Rather than staying on top by himself, he chooses to share his knowledge and level the playing field.

Jingyi, although not as skilled, is unmatched in his enthusiasm. He may be lacking in technique, but it doesn’t stop him from springing back up after each defeat to try again. When pushed into a corner by Sizhui, he attempts to find ways out of it instead of surrendering. He discusses tactics with Sizhui, ever-willing to improve. 

Kindness and eagerness. The two qualities that had all of the older Lan cultivators singing the praises of the two young cultivators before him. Both are considered the most promising of their class, the light of the next generation of Lan cultivators.

That person had the very same qualities. A heart that bled for the less fortunate and a mind that pushed boundaries and chased the impossible.

Humans are contrary creatures, he muses. It is the same two qualities, exhibited by three people in different situations. Yet they led one to annihilation, while the other two to admiration.

It’s that thought he dwells on when he plays his _guqin_ that night, searching again for the soul that possessed the very best in the very worst of times. 

This cannot be the end, Lan Wangji thinks. It’s too unfair. He will find a way, and he will make it right. 

 

* * *

 

Lan Sizhui sits opposite him, his brand new _guqin_ filling the air with the scent of wood. He is the very picture of a disciple of Lan, snow-white robes spread gracefully across the ground, posture upright, gaze filled with sincerity. 

It’s ironic, really, considering he’s the only living descendant of a clan with the bloodiest history in the cultivation world. Lan Wangji remembers the ruckus his elders made when he brought Sizhui back, just because of his family history. And now they are full of nothing but pride for him, and no one can tell Lan Yuan isn't a Lan by blood.

Lan Wangji explains ‘Inquiry’ briefly in words, going over the process in hushed tones. The younger Lan deflates a little when he learns that he will not get to play the famous piece just yet, but brightens up just as quickly when he is told he will watch a demonstration from one of the best Lan cultivators alive. 

The older Lan’s fingers settle over the strings and he coaxes the opening melody from the instrument, an invitation for the spirits to gather and answer his questions. They wait wordlessly, the only sound the churning of the waterfall at the back of the Cloud Recesses. 

A few notes sound out.

Lan Wangji interprets it for his _tu_ _di_ , “I am here.” 

He then plays the next sentence. _Who are you?_

The next two notes make him freeze. 

Lan Sizhui’s forehead wrinkles as he hums the notes again, trying to translate the answer from music to language. When he can’t figure it out, he asks, “Hanguang-jun, what did that mean?”

But the older cultivator is not listening. He’s already playing again, deep in conversation with the spirit he’d summoned. Lan Sizhui takes it as his cue to be silent and observe. 

The back-and-forth is over just as quickly as it begins. Lan Sizhui thinks he sees a flash of disappointment cross his senior’s face, except that it’s not possible because it’s _the_ Hanguang-jun. He wisely chooses not to point it out, and instead asks what had transpired in the duet he was not privy to. 

“Not who I thought he was.” Lan Wangji answers simply. Lan Sizhui doesn’t ask again.

 

* * *

When Lan Sizhui finishes his first successful round of ‘Inquiry’, he beams at Lan Wangji.

The mind may forget, but the heart remembers. Lan Yuan may not remember his early years before being brought to the Cloud Recesses, but it seems he hasn’t forgotten his caretaker’s bright smile. 

It comforts Lan Wangji just a little to know that some part of that person, however small it may be, still lives on in a life he has touched. He breaks one of his own rules that day and places a hand on Lan Sizhui’s shoulder to acknowledge his efforts.

“Hanguang-jun,” Sizhui says after the euphoria of it all is over, “in our first lesson, the spirit’s answer to his name was Wei Ying, wasn’t it? Who is Wei Ying?”

Lan Wangji looks at Wei Ying’s child and doesn’t answer.

 

* * *

 

Sect Leader Jiang Wanyin is a completely different person from the Young Master Jiang Cheng that Lan Wangji used to know.

Age and responsibility and grief have sunk their claws into him, marking his once youthful features with frown lines and wrinkles. His lips, where smiles were once readily available, are set into a permanent frown. In the moments where his clan’s attention isn’t on him, or when he is brutally cutting down monster after spirit after ghost after beast, he almost looks like a dead man walking. 

The only thing even remotely similar is that he still shouts. A lot. Perhaps even more.

They meet during a night hunt in Yunmeng. Lan Wangji, true to his legacy of ‘appearing where chaos is’, had arrived after hearing that the Jiang Sect was struggling with an outbreak of fierce corpses. 

Jiang Cheng is undoubtedly displeased to see him, a person from a past he wants to leave behind, but still courteously invites him to stay at the Jiang residence for the night as thanks for his assistance in the hunt. He accepts, but tells the sect leader and his clan to head back first. 

He settles down at the edge of the wooden jetty in Lotus Pier. The lotuses sway gently in the moonlight as he brings out his _guqin_. It’s been so many years by now, but the song he plays carries the same conviction that it did when he first started. Not surprisingly, it’s another night of fruitless answers.

The next day, before he leaves, Jiang Cheng replenishes his supplies for his journey. The sect leader walks him to the jetty, where a boat is already waiting to take him to his next destination. On their way, a child bumps into Jiang Cheng, crying into his purple robes. There’s a bunch of wild dogs, the child gets out in between sobs, and they started chasing him because he had a meat bun in his hands. Jiang Cheng’s reaction is immediate, releasing Zidian from its ring form and chasing the animals out of Lotus Town. 

Lan Wangji graciously chooses not to comment on it.

He opens the silk-wrapped parcel at noon, only to find a length of red ribbon sitting on top of the lacquered lunch box. 

 

* * *

 

Lan Wangji stops at the edge of the forest, placing a palm on the tree beside him as he gazes out at Mo Village. The rundown, backwater town is nothing fancy, especially not when compared to the grace and tranquility that is the Cloud Recesses. It’s not a place where anyone would expect the esteemed Hanguang-jun to be. Except two of his younger disciples had gone there earlier in the day to deal with some corpses. He’s not worried - Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi are brilliant cultivators - but it is their first mission without a senior with them. 

Half in the moonlight, half in the shadows of the forest, he watches the manor at the head of the village. At this distance, he can make out a few flags fluttering on its tiled rooftops.

He turns, heading back into the forest. The soft moonlight slides from his delicate features, casting his jade-like features in darkness. He walks, gaze searching the trees around him. He finally settles on one that reminds him of another tree in the Cloud Recesses. The one standing where he’d chased a dog away for the disciple hiding in its branches. That boy that never knew Lan Wangji did it not for no particular reason, but for him. 

He settles at the base of the tree, white robes spilling over the ground. His guqin is placed across his lap. 

‘Inquiry’ flows out, steady and resolute. At this point, the song is as part of him as his fingers are and he plucks his way through it like it’s second nature. The opening notes fade into silence and he waits. 

Three notes sound out. Not the answer he wants. 

He tries again. And again. Over and over, the same question of ‘Who are you?’. And yet none of the answers is the one he’s looking for. Has been looking for for 13 years. 

With barely more than a sigh through his nose, he stows the instrument away in disappointment. He then takes out a red ribbon from his sleeves. The crimson spills across his pale fingers, before pooling on the ground. In the darkness, it almost looks like blood on his hands.

Time moves strangely when one is yearning. Something can feel like yesterday and yet like an lifetime ago. Lan Wangji is already struggling to recall his bright eyes, his cheeky grin, the way his voice lilts when he calls out, “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan~”. And yet he hasn’t forgotten the sheer vehemence in his glare, the way that person’s voice sounded when he said the word ‘Leave’.

It doesn’t take him long to gather a few dried leaves and twigs - this is a forest, after all. He places them in a pile on the ground, then unsheathes Bichen and nicks his index finger. He draws on his palm with his blood, the sight overlapping with a memory from a different life. He slaps his palm on the pile of kindling, then removes it. A flame bursts to life, crackling merrily in the gloom of the forest. It reminds him of another person, who shone like a beacon of light in the dark. Until he made darkness his companion and let it swallow him whole. 

Lan Wangji removes the ribbon from where he’d wrapped it around his wrist while he was getting his hands dirty. He looks at it again. 

Maybe it’s been long enough. Maybe he should stop chasing after ghosts. 

Maybe Wei Ying is really, truly gone.

He extends his arm, letting the edge of the crimson ribbon dangle above the fire. The flames, as if knowing that a sacrifice was imminent, climb higher, grabbing at the ribbon. Involuntarily, he lifts the ribbon higher, not wanting to let it go just yet.

The boom is so sudden, he almost drops the ribbon in surprise. Snapped out of his reverie, Lan Wangji looks toward the direction of Mo Village, just in time to see the last sparks of a white firework in the shape of clouds. 

_Sizhui! Jingyi!_

He stuffs the ribbon back into his sleeve and kills the flames with a wave of his hand. Drawing Bichen, he mounts it and soars into the sky.

Maybe later, maybe tommorow, after he’s helped his _tu_ _di,_ he will let his memories go. 

* * *

 

(He does. The ribbon in his hair is the same colour as Wei Ying’s wedding robes when they do their three bows.)

  


**Author's Note:**

> Enemies are bound to meet on a narrow road- A Chinese idiom, 冤家路窄. Writing this has made me realise how much of the novel is probably lost in translation and that I should probably put ten years of Chinese lessons to good use and attempt reading it in Chinese orz
> 
> With regard to the second last scene, it was inspired by that scene in the novel where WWX asks LWJ if the latter burned any paper money for the former. So I know that cultivators don’t burn things for their dead. I meant for it to be that LWJ burning WWX’s ribbon is more of an act of letting him go than sending the ribbon to him in the afterlife. Thoughts?
> 
> TL;DR I’ve fallen into the burial mound that is Mo Dao Zu Shi and have no intention of getting out. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!


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